


Baa

by earlgreytea68



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-29
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-11-06 06:19:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11030397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/earlgreytea68/pseuds/earlgreytea68
Summary: Arthur hates Iowa, even before the sheep runs into the road.(P.S. Arthur doesn't hit the sheep, the sheep's totally fine.)





	Baa

**Author's Note:**

> For Inceptimals!
> 
> This was honestly meant to be a tongue-in-cheek in-verse fandom fanfic for HGTV verse, which I imagine is populated with a large proportion of fics involving sheep. It's a whole genre for them: sheepfic.

Driving across America was the fucking worst. 

Arthur was tired of half of the billboards trying to tempt him to stop at adult superstores and the other half telling him that hell was imminent. Arthur was tired of fast food. Arthur was tired of generic chain hotels where the room temperature would be either frigid or boiling with no in-between. Arthur was tired of the whole thing. 

And that was before the fucking sheep ran into the road. 

Arthur was off the interstate, hunting down a deserted county highway for some kind of food, and his cell phone had no service, and he had no idea where the fuck he was, and the sheep came out of _nowhere_ , and Arthur slammed on his brakes and lost control of the car and it ended up in a ditch. 

A fucking ditch. 

Arthur climbed out of it, ruining his Ferragamo shoes, and stared at his beautiful sleek BMW. Stuck in the mud. 

The sheep baa’d at him. Clearly his unimpressed assessment of Arthur’s predicament. 

“Shut up,” Arthur told it, and took his phone out and held it up. Still no service. “Fuck,” Arthur said, and looked up and down the deserted county road. How long until someone came along, and what were the odds that someone wouldn’t be a serial killer? 

Arthur sighed and started walking. There was nothing else for it. 

The sheep followed him. 

***

The pick-up truck was rattling behind him so loudly that Arthur thought the horn the driver was also leaning on was ridiculously superfluous. 

He said that, as the truck slowed to a stop next to him. “Were you really worried I wouldn’t hear you and would step out in front of you? If I stepped out in front of you, it would be because I _wanted_ to die.”

“Are you the bloke whose car is in the ditch back there?” said the driver. 

Arthur blinked. British. He would not have thought…Was he hallucinating…? “Where am I?”

“Iowa,” said the driver. “Do you need me to be more specific than that?”

“No,” Arthur decided. “It wouldn’t help. I barely even know where Iowa is.” 

“Me, too, and I live here. Now, do you need a lift somewhere, or would you just like to put my sheep in the back of my truck and I’ll be on my way and leave you to your solitary trudging?” 

Arthur sighed and said, “Is there, like, a tow truck company somewhere around here?” 

“Who knows?” said the driver. 

“I assumed you would know, given the state of that truck,” replied Arthur. 

The driver laughed, a pleasant laugh that made Arthur sway a little in his direction. 

Or maybe Arthur was just dehydrated. 

“Get in,” the driver said, and leaned forward to open the passenger side door for Arthur. “I’ll take you to my place and we can figure out the tow truck situation there. Let me just get my sheep.” 

Arthur hesitated, but then got into the truck because he hadn’t sat down in what felt like hours. The man scooped up his baa-ing sheep and stuck it in the back of the truck before getting back into the driver’s seat. 

It was twilight now, the sky darkening quickly, and Arthur said, “I need a tow truck, and then a hotel.”

“They don’t have hotels in Iowa,” the driver said, resuming his way down the road. 

Arthur said, “They must have hotels somewhere in Iowa. It’s a big state.” 

“Well, they don’t have any near me. You can stay in my spare room.” 

“Is this going to be like ‘Misery’? Are you going to break my ankles and hold me hostage?” 

“Are you a famous author?” asked the driver. 

“No,” said Arthur. 

“Then probably not like ‘Misery,’” said the driver. 

“You know, your sheep drove me off the road.” 

“My sheep drove a fancy BMW off the road?”

“I was swerving to avoid him.” 

“That’s very kind of you. Especially since I was just going to kill him and have lamb chops tomorrow night.” 

Arthur said, “Ugh, are you fucking serious?” 

The driver glanced at him, and sent him a quick smile, and Arthur tried to get an accurate picture of the planes and valleys of his face. He said, “No, the sheep’s name is Sheepy and he’s a pet.”

“…The sheep’s name is _Sheepy_?” said Arthur. 

***

Arthur got a better picture of the planes and valleys of his rescuer’s face in the bright lights of the rescuer’s living room and thought that life had been easier before he’d known his rescuer was hot. 

They used the rescuer’s computer to find a tow truck company and then used an actual, honest-to-God landline telephone to call said tow truck company and find out that it was closed until morning. 

“Well,” said his hot British rescuer, “you can just spend the night here.” 

“This is how pornos begin,” Arthur heard himself say, and blamed all the billboards for adult superstores. 

The hot British rescuer’s obscene mouth widened into a grin. “Is it?”

Arthur said, “Who the fuck lives in a place without cell phone reception? It’s like 1982 around here.” 

“It is,” agreed his hot British rescuer. “My name is Eames, by the way. Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” Arthur admitted. And then, after a bit, “And I’m Arthur.” 

***

Eames was a decent cook, even if he had a stupid name, or maybe Arthur was just so happy not to be eating fast food. 

Arthur said, “How did a British guy end up in Iowa?”

“I drove my car off the road swerving to avoid a sheep,” said Eames. “Never left. It’s like Hotel California around here. You’ll try to leave tomorrow and find yourself inexorably pulled back in.” 

“Hilarious,” said Arthur. 

“Hey,” said Eames with a grin. “Is there any other explanation for why people stay in Iowa?”

“Okay, fine,” Arthur said. “It’s none of my business.” And it really wasn’t. 

Eames said, “It’s not a very interesting story. I wanted a change of pace.” 

“So you chose Iowa? Where were you before this?” 

“London.” 

“You chose Iowa over _London_?”

“Major change of pace,” said Eames. 

“So, what? Are you just out here being a shepherd?”

Eames laughed. “No. Do I look like a shepherd?”

“A shepherd from a porno,” Arthur said, because apparently he was just going to keep saying stuff like that. 

Eames laughed more. Then he said, “I’m actually an artist. I paint. Mostly cornfields these days. And Sheepy.” 

“Sheepy,” said Arthur, and shook his head. 

Eames smiled and said, “And what are you doing in Iowa?”

“Passing through,” said Arthur. 

“Not very effectively at the moment,” said Eames. 

“Indeed,” Arthur agreed. 

“Iowa magic,” said Eames, and fluttered his fingers. 

And then the lights went out. 

***

“So,” Eames said, having lit all four of the candles he said he had in the house. “Isn’t this romantic?” 

“No,” said Arthur. “Do you think you should call the electric company?”

“Oh,” said Eames. “That wouldn’t do any good. The electricity comes from my generator. Probably there’s something wrong with it. I’ll look at it tomorrow.” 

“Tomorrow?” echoed Arthur. “And what are we supposed to do tonight?”

Eames looked at Arthur. 

“Fuck,” said Arthur, “are we actually in a porno now, and I don’t know it?”

Eames laughed. “We can play cards.” 

“You have four candles,” Arthur pointed out. “That’s not enough to really see anything by.” 

“Good point,” Eames said. There was a moment of silence. “Sooooo should we just fuck then?”

“Yeah,” said Arthur.


End file.
